My Boudin

Editor's note: Chef Donald Link of New Orleans restaurants Cochon and Herbsaint, shared this recipe as part of a special Mardi Gras celebration he created for Epicurious.

Boudin, the king of Cajun food, is my favorite thing in the world to eat. It is a unique food in that it can be breakfast, lunch, dinner, a snack, or car food. Whereas most of the country might show up at a morning get-together with donuts, we show up with boudin. And no two boudins are exactly alikethat's amazing, considering they all have basically the same ingredients of rice and pork.
One of the best boudins I've had is made by my cousin Bubba Frey, who owns the Mowata General Store in the heart of the German settlement between the Link and Zaunbrecher rice fields, but all my cousins down there make their own boudin. One cousin told me that meat from the temple of the pig's head makes the best boudin, while another claims that a combination of hog jowl and shoulder meat is the secret. The truth is, they are all good.
This recipe combines elements from all of the different boudins I've eaten in my day. There's liver in it but just enough, it's nicely spiced but wont burn your mouth, and it has the perfect amount of rice.

Preparation

Combine the pork, liver, vegetables, and seasonings in a bowl and marinate for
1 hour or overnight, covered, in the refrigerator. Place the marinated mixture in a large pot and cover the meat with water (by 1 to 2 inches). Bring the mixture to a boil, reduce the heat, and simmer until the meat is tender, about 1 hour and 45 minutes.

Remove the pot from the heat and strain, reserving the liquid. Allow the mixture to cool slightly, then put the solids through a meat grinder set on coarse grind. (You can also chop with a knife if you don't have a meat grinder, which is what I usually do anyway.)

Place the ground meat in a large bowl. Using a wooden spoon or rubber spatula, mix in the cooked rice, parsley, scallions, and the reserved cooking liquid. Stir vigorously for 5 minutes. When the boudin-rice mixture is first combined, it looks very wet and it's pretty spicy. Don't worry; after poaching, the rice absorbs the excess moisture and much of the spice. The wet texture and extra spice ensure that your final boudin will be moist and full of flavor.

At this point you can feed the sausage into the casings. Poach the links gently in hot (not bubbling) water for about 10 minutes, then serve. Alternatively, you can use the mixture as a stuffing for chicken, or roll it into "boudin balls," dredge in bread crumbs, and fry in hot oil until golden brown.

Note:
To eat fresh, hot poached boudin, bite into the link and use your teeth and fingers to gently pull the meat out of its soft casing. (The casings are only eaten when the boudin is grilled or smoked and they become crisp.) You can also slice the boudin and tease the meat out with a fork, though utensils are not encouraged.
Some locals eat boudin with a dab of Creole mustard, a drizzle of cane syrup, a French roll, or a few crackers. But most feel that it, like a few of life's other illicit pleasures, is best enjoyed in the heat of the moment, eaten straight from the wrapper, while sitting in one's car. This is not a region known for its pretension: It is fondly said that a Cajun seven-course meal is a pound of boudin and a six-pack of beer.

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Recent Review

Taking into account the previous comment, I boiled the meat for about an hour, and that part was fine-- my downfall was when I followed Link's instructions, rather than my instincts, and added too much liquid. The finished product is too sloppy even to form into boudin balls, and additionally incredibly salty. I am going to attempt to salvage this batch by adding some more rice-- the flavor, aside from the horrible saltiness, was OK, and maybe I'll toss in some fresh thyme while I'm at it. At any rate it was a lot of work for a product that is, in its current state, unusable.